


Today of All Days

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking and Entering, Brotherly Angst, Gen, Gunplay, Hospitalization, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Past Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the anniversary of Margaret Eppes' death, but Don has no time to grieve. With few resources on hand and his team out of reach, Don must defuse a hostage situation that could rock his family life two times over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today of All Days

Even before he was fully awake Don stiffened, sensing an unexplained foreboding that wallowed at the corners of consciousness. He opened his eyes, half expecting a gun barrel to greet the bridge of his nose. All that hailed him was the sunlight spilling through the window.

Don sat up, blinking in the bright light, brows knitting as he wondered why he had a leaden feeling to his stomach. The flu was going around, but he didn’t feel ill. Merely disquieted. Rising, Don began pacing his room, studying his surroundings as though something there held an answer. It turned out that ‘something’ was the calendar. Don glanced at it for the date—and his insides warped to the point that he had to sit on the edge of the bed.

It was October 29th. The day his mother Margaret died.

Don stared at the date. The blank box stared sullenly back at him. How had he forgotten to mark it for her? The calendar, the sunlight, the entire bedroom faded fast before the agent’s vision, replaced by monitors and breathing tubes and oxygen bags and IVs in arms that had held and supported Don all through his childhood.

What Don had told Charlie a few months ago was true: Mom hadn’t suffered in her last days. Morphine had taken care of her physical pains just fine. But her eyes...Don remembered the look in her eyes. She was worried—not for herself, but for her sons.

Not even Alan understood Don and Charlie as she did. She was their mother and no one else could ever be that to them. After she was gone, there would be no other person on the planet that her boys would call _Mom_.

“Don...” she murmured. “I’m sorry for doing this to you.”

Don was shocked. Mom never had any reason to be sorry; it wasn’t her fault and never had been. He told her so with fervency, squeezing her slender hand and ignoring its icy feel.  

“It just feels like abandonment...”

Swallowing hard, Don spoke grimly. “You’re not abandoning us. We can take care of ourselves—we’re grown up now.”

A smile ghosted across his mother’s face. “One lesson you haven’t learned, though, Donny.” With the rueful gaze of one who has lost an opportunity, Margaret took in her son’s clenched, trembling jaw and bright yet forcefully dry eyes. “You’re allowed to cry.”

Aside from the guttural drone of the flatline, utter silence followed Margaret’s last words and Don wouldn’t break it. He stood and strode out to the parking lot and left, never allowing even the smallest whimper to escape him. He faced his brother later and mutely guided Charlie’s tear-streaked face into his shoulder. He’d hugged him awkwardly, with the realization that not even Big Brother’s arms were as comforting as Mom’s.

In this present moment Don propelled himself to his feet. He needed to drive over to Charlie and Alan’s immediately. Seeking the clock, Don found that it was 9:40 a.m. His brother and father were likely to be awake by now. Awake and grieving.

Barely noticing or caring that he was still in his sleep-clothes, Don got in his car and began the drive. A cold in his fingers was prohibitive to safe driving and as he waiting at a stoplight he shook them in discomfort. The icy chill only spread, raising the hair on his arms and neck, trickling down his spine. Adrenaline arrived, tightening the veins in his temples.

Something was going to happen, Don realized, only a split second before it did. Even through the window Don heard a gunshot ring out. He jerked instinctively, slammed his foot on the break, and screeched to a stop.

The man who had fired approached rapidly from across the street, masked and carrying a duffel bag. He motioned for Don to roll down the window and was obeyed. “Get out of the car, mister!” he shouted at Don, cocking his pistol.

Don was in no mood for this. Reaching over to the passenger seat, he grabbed his badge. “FBI,” he growled.

The man covered his surprise with a nervy simper. “In pajamas?”

“Undercover,” Don retorted, almost embarrassed by the way this was going. “Drop the gun.”

“No way, Fed! I need this car. Now get out!”

Don shrugged. “Alright, whatever you say.” Thus he opened the door, slamming it into the man’s midsection. He doubled over, falling to the pavement a moment afterward when Don’s fist caught him in the jaw.

Stepping out, Don waved away the crowd that had gathered, pressed a solid knee into the man’s back, and withdrew his handcuffs. _Glad I decided to bring these,_ he contemplated to himself. Once the bracelets were locked around the man’s wrists, Don turned his attention to the gun that had clattered onto the street.

“S&W Model 41 .22LR...you certainly know your manufacturers,” Don commented lightly, picking up the gun with the cleaning cloth to his sunglasses so as not to leave fingerprints. The man responded with a string of enraged expletives but Don ignored it as he fished out his cellphone and called one of his fellow agents.

=

Charlie’s eyes fixed on the photograph of his mom in the hall. He halted abruptly without intending to, fingers alighting on the smooth edge of the frame. Charlie’s thoughts strayed to eyes so similar to his, a smile so similar to Don’s, and emotion lodged itself in the back of his throat.

He had known something was wrong as soon as he’d woken only a few minutes ago, but he hadn’t realized...

With a soft sigh, Charlie forced his feet to restart, padding down the stairs toward the kitchen. He heard voices from within and called out as he rounded the corner.

“Dad? Don?”

He was answered by a delicate click from behind, accompanied by deadly words: “All I need is one wrong move.”

There was no need for the obvious threat. Charlie couldn’t have moved anyway; as soon as he’d heard the gun cock his limbs had gone limp, inert with fear.

“That’s better,” the voice continued. “You were calling for someone. I already knocked your dad cold in the kitchen, but who’s ‘Don’?”

Charlie’s vocal chords had frozen also. He stuttered. “D-Don?”

“Tell me who he is!”

“My brother,” Charlie gasped out.

“That’s right,” another voice agreed, smooth as the underside of a seashell. A shorter but well-built man appeared from the kitchen. “Special Agent Don Eppes, FBI.” His green eyes sparked as he smiled dangerously. He gestured casually at the wide-eyed mathematician. “This here is Charlie-boy Eppes, baby of the family.”

“How do you know—” Charlie began fearfully.

“—your name, your address, your brother and his occupation?” Green-Eye shrugged. “Just watched and waited.”

“It’s not that hard to track down Agent Eppes. That—” Charlie visibly cringed at the vulgarity the unseen gunman spat out for his brother. “—is in the newspaper _a lot_.”

“Yeah. Yeah, he is,” the green-eyed man agreed, laughing softly. Charlie stared at him, slack-jawed. For once his brilliant mind could barely process.

Another chuckle from the man who was visible. “I guess since we know you, you oughtta know us. I’m Losley, guy behind you is Worth. And...” Losley beckoned for the last of the trio to emerge from the kitchen. A woman did so, thin lips curving seductively as she approached, leaning into Losley’s shoulder. “...this is Delia.”

Delia smirked, questioning, “So, Charlie, do you expect Don here sometime soon?”

“Heard two voices...” Charlie answered weakly. “Just an assumption...”

Worth’s gun jammed into the small of Charlie’s back. “Call him!” Worth barked, indicating the cellphone that sat on the end table by the couch. When Charlie made no move to pick up the phone, Worth snarled and propelled him forward. Charlie yipped as his knees struck the table’s edge.

“Call Don,” Worth repeated edgily. “If you don’t, I will. Maybe he can tell me if hearses are rentable.”

That was enough incentive. Charlie’s newly bruised legs wouldn’t hold him. Sinking down onto the couch with phone in hand, Charlie whispered, “What do you want me to say?”

Losley beamed, his eyes becoming merry crescent moons. “Say whatever you need to get him here, Chucky-boy. Just don’t mention us.”

“And put it on speakerphone,” Worth added stonily.

Charlie felt a rush of adrenaline as his thumb hovered over the speed-dial, but numbness crawling down his legs sucked it away, making him unable to move. He wanted to run, to scream, to do anything but press that ‘call’ button! Yet he knew that, for now, cooperating was the best option.  Charlie swallowed the bile coating his tongue and hit the button. The dial tone whined stridently on the loudspeaker.

The phone was answered after the fifth ring. _“Hello?”_

Charlie gulped in another breath. He tried to make his voice natural. “H-Hey, Don, it’s me.”

_“Charlie...How’re you doing?”_

Held at gunpoint, completely terrified, ready to puke— “I’m okay,” Charlie mustered up. “Um...were you planning on...coming by?”

_“Yeah, yeah, I’m actually on my way now. Had to hand in a guy who tried to steal my car, but it didn’t take long. Didn’t think I would leave you and Dad alone on today of all days, did you?”_

Don was referring to Mom, Charlie’s fear-addled brain eventually grasped. “Wanted to make sure,” Charlie responded faintly.

 _“You alright, buddy?”_ Even distorted by the phone’s speaker, Don’s tone was clearly one of concern.

“Fine,” Charlie whispered unconvincingly. “Drive safe, Don.” It took every ounce of strength he had in his arm to end the call. As soon as he did, Losley snatched away the phone and pocketed it.

“What did he mean, ‘today of all days’?” Delia demanded.

“Nothing you need to know,” Charlie mumbled, eyes on the carpet. A moment later he involuntarily released a yelp as Worth’s knee jammed into his gut, forcing him against the couch cushion. The gun barrel was against the joint of his shoulder and a switchblade that appeared from nowhere danced around his throat.

“Answer her!”

“My mom died two years ago today,” Charlie burst out. He blanched as the knife delicately sliced the skin of his collarbone. Recoiling, the mathematician cried out, “But that’s not important to you so just _get off_ of me!”

Worth laughed for the first time, a harsh, guttural sound that grated in Charlie’s ears. “It’ll be fun to kill you later,” was Worth’s only comment as he stood.

=

Don closed his cellphone feeling troubled. Something in Charlie’s voice didn’t sit right with him. Of course Don couldn’t expect Charlie to be bright and cheery on the anniversary of their mother’s death, but it wasn’t like that. His brother’s words had sounded unnatural, almost...fearful.

The house was in sight, but Don parked where he was instead of pulling into the driveway. He eyed the house warily. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Even the sprinklers were on their daily routine, but Don’s gut told him something was wrong—that and the insistent tingle in his fingers for the extra sidearm in the glove compartment.

Don opened his newly dented driver’s-side door cautiously. With no belt to serve purpose, the gun was tucked into the band of his pants. If Don’s instincts were accurate, it wouldn’t stay there for long.

Approaching on the left of the driveway, Don squinted, trying to see through the curtains hung by the window. He could only see shadows, but that was enough. Don recognized Charlie’s shadow instantly; he was sitting on the couch. There were two, perhaps three others with him.

Larry and Amita were at a seminar that lasted until at least two. Who, then, was inside with Charlie? And where was Dad? He would never leave Charlie to deal with company by himself.

An black pool of dread began swirling in the pit of Don’s stomach. He let out a slow breath and withdrew, retreating toward the backside of the house.

=

“I’m telling you, I thought I heard a car!” Delia insisted.

“But there’s no one there,” Worth answered flatly. “I checked.”

“And besides, girly, cars drive by every day,” Losley added carelessly, grinning as he snaked an arm around Delia’s hips.

Charlie couldn’t bear to watch them. His mind was far too preoccupied with his worries about Don and Dad. He studied Worth’s gun intently, as well as its owner. Worth had his back turned to him, watching Losley and Delia flirt with unfazed eyes.

He had to get to the kitchen, Charlie knew. Dad was in there, along with utilities he needed. There were knives! Many, many knives and right now he was weaponless. Numbers, calculations, percentages of success flashed through his head. There was a chance and, no matter how low it was, Charlie needed to take it.

Steeling himself, Charlie bolted. He ducked Losley’s grab at him and shoved Delia out of the way, scrambling—

_Crack!_

Pain. Exploding pain that drove in waves through Charlie’s shoulder. He was almost certain he felt something shatter as he plunged to the floor, skidding in a slippery lubricant and hitting the kitchen doorframe face first. As soon as Charlie saw the blood— _his_ blood—pooling on the wood floor, his immediate instinct was to scream. He did so with the vehemence of demented panic.

Losley swore generously. “Shut him, Worth!”

Worth’s heavy boots, one to the ribs and one to the face, were suitably effective. Charlie’s howl was cut short by an agonized whimper. He curled into himself as his vision swam and his lungs burned.

_And Don handles this every day..._

=

Don’s insides convulsed when he heard the gunshot and the scream that followed. Abandoning all caution, Don charged the backdoor, slamming it inward. His mind registered the scene with one sweeping gaze.

Three perpetrators, one female and two males, larger one visibly armed. Don’s assessment was proven as he lurched out of the way of an instant volley aimed at him.

Somersaulting behind the staircase Don hollered, “FBI! Drop your weapons!”

Worth responded with a potshot that skipped across Don’s arm, drawing blood. The agent winced slightly, pulling his gun in one hand and his cellphone in the other. Multitasking wasn’t one of Don’s strongpoints, but he realized that it needed to become one as soon as possible. The phone whirred placidly as he tucked it between shoulder and ear.

_“Sinclair.”_

“Eppes! Gunfight, David, here at my house!” Don bellowed into the phone over the blasts and wild cursing. “Need backup!”

Don heard David speaking urgently to other agents in the background.

_“We’re coming, Don, sit tight!”_

“I wish!” Don shouted, firing bullets in steady succession. The recoil jerked his arm, but his accuracy was adequate. A howl of pain hit Don’s ears. Around the staircase he could just see the woman crumple onto the couch, clutching her leg and emitting screams that nearly drowned out thought.

“Delia!” the shorter man howled. Don growled in frustration as he too pulled a gun. Semi-automatic, it seemed, as Don narrowly ducked a rapid spray of gunfire that drilled holes into the wall behind his head and shattered the glass of the new display case Charlie had recently installed.

Charlie!

With glass shards slashing his back and bullets with his name on them spraying the air, Don hadn’t even remembered the original reason he’d rushed in here. Someone had been shot.

_Oh, no, no, no..._

As if on cue, one of the perps roared out, “Toss your piece to us, Eppes, or I toss your brother’s pieces to you!”

Don’s hand cramped with adrenaline he didn’t dare release. “Where is he?” he called out.

“I’ve got him right here,” the larger man answered calmly. “Peek your head out and you’ll see.”

That was the last thing Don was going to do. “I won’t drop my gun unless he speaks directly to me!” he pronounced instead.

Swift clatter followed and then there were low words through clenched teeth. A pause and then someone called out in a ragged voice. Don only recognized the strangled tone because of its accompaniment to scraped knees and broken toys from childhood.

“D-Don...”

Don stiffened. “Is that you, Charlie?” He already knew the answer but he longed, lusted after such thin denial.

“Yes.”

“Are you hurt?” Don asked, trying to hide the fear that was creeping into his throat.

Another “Yes”, weaker this time.

“Tell me where,” Don commanded frantically. “ _Exactly_ where.”

It was one of the criminals who answered. His voice lilted smoothly in one of those old nursery songs: “Head, shoulder, knees, and ribs...Now that you’ve heard Charlie-boy chat, are you going to give us your gun, Agent? Hurry up and decide. All this blood is making my gloves messy.”

A spark of rage flared in Don’s chest. It took every ounce of control he had to keep from rushing out there and slaughtering everybody. “I get Charlie and then you get the gun!”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” the gunman said flatly. “Give up.”

Don was wading into dangerous waters, he realized as he considered his options. Where was David? He’d said that they were on the way!

_Yeah, sure, great time to be late, David. By all means, stop for an ice mocha, eat a croissant or three! Meanwhile I’ll be waiting here with my injured brother, two homicidal freaks, a lady who won’t stop her unholy racket and—is that another gun cocking?_

It was, indeed, and Don’s sudden panic redoubled when it was complemented by a familiar voice.

“Let him go.”

Don used the moment of distraction to peek his head out without getting sniped. There was his father, holding a Beretta Silver Hawk SxS shotgun.

=

Charlie was surely hallucinating. That couldn’t be Dad with a shotgun standing in the kitchen doorway. Still, Charlie had to admit, it was a pretty elaborate hallucination.

“What, you think you’re faster with a gun than my man, Pappy?” Losley asked in surprise.

Alan shrugged slightly. “I’ll give it my best shot. Pun intended.”

Charlie heard Don shout in alarm. “Dad, get back!”

Alan never took his eyes off Worth, who was holding Charlie in a secure chokehold. There was no way he was backing down and he calmly told Don so.

“Would you rather die?!” Don cried.

“I’m not afraid to.”

“Now’s not the time to be a hero!”

Losley and Worth watched in amusement as Don and Alan argued across the way. Charlie, meanwhile, squirmed slightly in Worth’s hold and felt the chill of metal graze his hipbone. Charlie paused in bewilderment and as realization dawned on him he wondered how he could have been such an idiot this entire time.

“Listen, how ’bout we just shoot you now and alleviate your worry,” Losley suggested impatiently, cocking his semi-auto.

“Then you’re going with me,” Alan countered, motioning with his chin to the shotgun.

“Give it up! This house is surrounded by armed FBI agents!” Don improvised.

“You’re bluffing!” Worth accused. “There aren’t any—gah!” A strangled cry burst from Worth’s throat and his eyes bugged from his head. His chokehold on Charlie loosened and the mathematician spun around, thrusting deeper and then shunting Worth off the cerise-coated blade of hisFast Draw Tanto pocketknife.

Losley reacted in an instant, raising his gun with a roar. Charlie believed himself a dead man when he heard the shatter and then the boom. He expected a stream of bullets to bury themselves in his heart or his neck or his head...but it was Losley who dropped dead, blossoms of crimson blooming in both back and front.  

There was a moment of intense, breath-holding silence. Then Charlie’s adrenaline vanished, leveling him onto his back. Don scrambled out of cover, sliding across the floor to his brother.

Charlie gave an agonized groan as Don maneuvered his arms under his body and pulled him into his lap, cursing profusely in his panic.

Alan was suddenly on his other side, clinging to him, saying something to Don. Charlie stared hazily up at them, shivering and wondering why the light was fading so quickly.

=

“Don...” Charlie whimpered.

Don tightened his grip on Charlie, assuring him, “It’s okay, buddy, just sit still and keep talking.” Alan returned just then with a towel that Don accepted and pressed onto the hemorrhaging wound in Charlie’s shoulder.

“I called an ambulance—Donny, you’re bleeding too!” Alan declared anxiously, motioning to the trickle trailing down Don’s arm.

“Flesh wound,” Don answered shortly, completely focused on Charlie. Sirens were wailing just outside, much to Don’s relief.

All at once, Colby appeared from the back, shouting, “Don!”

Said agent glanced up, barking, “Where were you?!” His words were colored with both anger and relief; his team had gotten here abhorrently late, but at least the FBI sniper managed to help Alan take out the last man.

Colby flinched slightly, apparently only catching the ire in Don’s voice. “We got held up—”

“Never mind, I don’t want to hear it! Just direct the medics in here when they come!”

Colby nodded with a subdued, “Yessir,” and disappeared back outside.

Don released a harsh sigh through his teeth as he dropped his eyes back to his brother. “Charlie, talk to me,” he urged worriedly.

“I’m tired.” Charlie’s eyes were glazed and unfocused.

“I know,” Don acknowledged. “But you have to stay awake for the medics.” _And for me_. Don searched his mind for something Charlie could focus on. “Pi,” he came up with at last.

“You’re hungry...?” Charlie muttered. Don didn’t know if the rolling of his eyes was voluntary or not.

“No: pi, as in math!” Don retorted. “Recite it. Right now.”

“I don’t...I don’t know if I can.”

Don was terrified now. Charlie Eppes, refusing _numbers_? “C’mon,” Don pleaded desperately, trying to will away the tears amassing in his eyes. “You’re supposed to be some big math genius. This should be easy!”

Charlie’s brow creased with concentration. “3.14159265358979...”

Don smiled tensely, nodding encouragement.  “Yeah, yeah, that’s good.”

Eventually Charlie lost the breath to continue. Therefore he simply lay there, wide-eyed and white-faced as he leaned his head back against the support of Don’s arm. Don kept eye-contact with him as the paramedics arrived, speaking soundlessly as only siblings can.

_Stay. Stay with me._

Charlie pursed his lips and nodded as he was taken away. Don rose, folding the towel so he could dab at the blood on his arm. When he looked up again, he caught sight of the female perp being taken to the hospital also. Don’s gaze darkened.

=

_Why...why is my shoulder numb? Where am I?_

“You’re in the hospital, buddy,” a familiar voice answered. “And you better be glad you’re shoulder’s numb. If it weren’t, you’d be in a world of pain.”

Charlie forced his eyes open and spotted the person sitting by his bedside.

“Don,” Charlie gasped out. Immediately Don leaned forward and snatched up his hand.

“Hey, Charlie, it’s okay, I’m here—don’t go into shock again, alright?”

Charlie stared at his hand, at Don’s fingers interlocked with his. “They were going to kill you, Don,” he said in a hushed voice. “When you walked in the door, they were going to shoot you.”

Sighing, Don motioned to the bandage around his upper bicep. At Charlie’s alarmed expression, Don announced hastily, “Only a skid. Dad had a fit about it; that’s the only reason it’s bound like this.”

Charlie was almost afraid to ask, but he did anyway. “Who were they?”

“Oh, just some people involved in a past case: big scamming operation that I stopped. You weren’t working with me at the time,” Don answered lightly. “We haven’t got the whole story out of the female perp—”

“Delia,” Charlie cut in.

Don raised an eyebrow. “Evelin Barbary.”

Charlie muttered a curse under his breath, followed by, “Why didn’t I expect fake names...?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Don soothed. His voice took on a playful note as he added, “When you give your statement, just use the real names and you can still be Mr. Know-It-All.”

Charlie had a childish urge to stick his tongue out at his brother, but he refrained for the sake of his own dignity.

“Anyway, we haven’t gotten the full story out of her, but I’m guessing it was good old-fashioned revenge they were after,” Don concluded after a moment.

“Yeah, I should’ve guessed that. They were familiar with your name and brought guns for some heavy-duty...stuff.” Charlie shook his head, settling his dark curls over the boot-shaped bruises on his forehead. Don gave a mental thank-you for that before clearing his throat.

“Hey, um, Charlie,” he began awkwardly. “That was a good move you pulled on Worth with your knife. Very brave. I’m proud of you.”

A small smile curved Charlie’s lips.

“But,” Don added, throwing a stern note into his voice, “don’t do it again. _Ever_.”

“I don’t plan to,” Charlie assured him. Leaning back into his pillows, he took a deep breath that unexpectedly turned into a yawn.

Carefully Don disentangled his hand from Charlie’s. “I’ll let you rest,” he offered quietly.

“Don’t I have to stay awake for Dad...?” Charlie mumbled, his eyes already closing.

Don couldn’t help but smile. “I can hold him off for a little while longer,” he promised as he rose to his feet. Don didn’t receive any thanks, but he didn’t mind. Running an affectionate hand over his sleeping brother’s dark curls, Don murmured, “Sleep well,” and then soundlessly made for the door.

 


End file.
